


No Law Except the Sword

by pristineungift



Series: Confessors and Kings [3]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Boxes of Orden, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Horror, Psychological Drama, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristineungift/pseuds/pristineungift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it mean to change fate? To defy prophecy? Is it possible, or are some things set in stone? Is one death the same as another? In this latest installment in the series that began with <a href="http://pristineungift.livejournal.com/83096.html"><strong><em>For All That We Have and Are</em></strong> </a>and <a href="http://pristineungift.livejournal.com/133348.html"><strong><em>The Old Commandments Stand</em></strong></a>, everyone just wants to go back to the beginning, but find they can only move forward. To the end. <strong>Darken/Kahlan</strong>; Darken/Richard (if you squint); Darken/Denna; Darken/Cara; <strong>Darken/Salindra</strong>; <strong>Richard/Denna</strong>; <strong>Richard/Salindra</strong>; Zedd/Denna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to madmguillotine for influencing my characterization of Salindra. Also thanks to evilgmbethy for influencing this particular incarnation of Richard, as well as the way I think of confession and Confessors. Thanks to brontefanatic for keeping me from giving up on this fic when I wanted to take it out back and shoot it. And thanks to angstbunny, since her comments on _The Old Commandments Stand_ pretty much directly spawned this sequel.

  
  
_Once more we hear the word  
That sickened earth of old:  
No law except the sword  
Unsheathed and uncontrolled,  
Once more it knits mankind,  
Once more the nations go  
To meet and break and bind  
A crazed and driven foe._  
  
- _For All That We Have and Are_ , Rudyard Kipling  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Zedd woke to a burning ache in his arms.  
  
They were shackled above his head, a chain suspending him from the ceiling.  
  
He was a prisoner of the Mord’Sith.  
  
“Hello, wizard,” a sultry voice came from the darkness surrounding him.  
  
The woman stepped into the light of the torches. Zedd tried to focus on her, and found he had trouble seeing out of his left eye. He turned his head, and felt a ring of metal rub against the raw flesh of his throat.  
  
A Rada Han.  
  
The Mord’Sith’s boots echoed against the stone as she came closer. She stroked Zedd’s cheek with a gentle hand.  
  
Zedd tensed, waiting for the blow that would inevitably follow.  
  
“Do you remember me?” the woman asked. She was possessed of a cold beauty – chiseled features and ice blond hair that was swept back in the customary braid. Her eyes made Zedd think of snakes.  
  
“I am Mistress Cara.”  
  
Zedd did recognize her. She was the Mord’Sith that had attacked his Mistr- Serena.  
  
 _Serena._  
  
Zedd let out a sound halfway between a groan and a sob.  
  
“Don’t weep yet,” Cara purred to him. And now the slap came, as he had expected, so hard that he saw spots. “You will have much more cause to weep before you leave here, and then you will kneel before Lord Rahl and pledge yourself and your power, and you will weep for joy.”  
  
When the door closed behind Mistress Cara, her braid following her like the tail of a scorpion, Zedd stopped trying to hold back his tears.  
  
He thought of Serena, and Richard. He wondered after Dennee. He feared the wrath of Darken Rahl. He regretted things done, and undone.  
  
He fought to hold onto hope.  
  
He despaired.  
  
What would become of them now?  
  
 _What would become of all of them now?_  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“My lord,” Cara said, announcing her presence.  
  
Darken Rahl was standing at the windows of his bedchamber, deep in thought. The cool light filtering through the glass played over his bare arms, making his tan skin seem pale and throwing the wounds inflicted by the Sword of Truth into sharp relief.  
  
It took a moment for him to register Cara’s voice.  
  
He gestured for her to come closer.  
  
“The wizard and the Confessor are chained in the tower, as you commanded. Mistress Dahlia guards them now. I will break them within the month, this I promise you,” Cara reported.  
  
“And the Seeker?” Darken asked, stroking his lips with one finger.  
  
“He has been made comfortable in your old rooms, as my lord wished.”  
  
Cara watched Darken, her intense green eyes unblinking. No doubt she was trying to read his mind. At times, he thought she could. She knew him so well. Every twitch of his lips, every fidget of his hands, told her things he would never say aloud.  
  
She was the only one who had noticed something amiss with him.  
  
Darken pulled Cara into his arms, pressing a kiss to her throat.  
  
“You will not be training the Confessor or the wizard,” he said between kisses, his hands on the complicated straps and buckles that held Cara’s leather armor in place. “I have sent for Denna.”  
  
Cara dared to push him away, her brows drawing down as she frowned. “I am just as capable – ”  
  
“You know very well that Denna is more skilled in this task than you are. You are a warrior. She is a torturer.”  
  
Darken stroked Cara’s cheek, extending the motion to play with her braid. He loved slowly uncoiling it, letting her hair slide over his fingers. He pulled at the golden strands, arranging them parallel to one of the many still healing cuts on his forearm.  
  
He had many more scars since the death of Queen Kahlan. Both inside and out.  
  
“Don’t pout, Cara,” Darken scolded her, winding her hair around his arm until she was forced to step closer to him. “It doesn’t suit you. And besides that, I have a task for you as well. One that requires your own special skills.”  
  
That cheered her. She smirked, running the edge of her teeth along Darken’s jaw, biting his neck just over his pulse point in the way that made him groan, his eyes rolling back in his head.  
  
“What task is this?” she whispered in his ear, the feeling of her breath on his skin sending a shiver through him.  
  
“The queen’s lady in waiting. She seems to have absconded with the royal jewels.” Darken ended the sentence with a gasp as Cara slid her hand through the gap in his robes, deftly handling another Rahl treasure. “You know what she looks like,” Darken wet his lips, his breath quickening. “Find her, and bring her back. Alive.”  
  
Cara smiled, her face transformed by lust and predatory glee. “As my lord wishes.”  
  
She slid to her knees.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Richard paced back and forth across the rich red carpet before his fireplace, filled with energy, but not sure what to do with himself.  
  
He’d been given rooms in the People’s Palace, rooms that were larger than his whole house in Hartland. Everything was all red and gold and dark wood, and very, very grand. He was served meals on gold plates, maids took care of his every whim, and his rough traveling clothes had been taken from him, replaced with soft doeskin breeches and a tunic of blue brocade, embroidered along the edges with silver thread in the pattern of stars.  
  
And every time he tried to leave, he was firmly told to go back by the guards at his door.  
  
Frustrated, he kicked at one of the chairs, then grunted when the heavy wooden seat didn’t move. All he accomplished was hurting his toe.  
  
He swore under his breath.  
  
“I didn’t know the Seeker was allowed to know those kinds of words,” a gruff voice sounded from the entryway.  
  
Richard spun on the spot, his hand going to the hilt of the Sword of Truth.  
  
It was an old man in the uniform of the Dragon Corp. He gave the impression of having once been a mountain of a soldier, broad and strong, but now had gone a bit soft in the belly. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his cloak. He had grey hair, and a mustache to match. Eyes like glass watched Richard from beneath scruffy brows.  
  
Richard tightened his grip on his sword.  
  
The old soldier raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “No need for that, my lord. I came to talk, nothing more.”  
  
Richard straightened, but remained on his guard. “Who are you?”  
  
The man saluted. “General Egremont, Lord Rahl’s advisor in military matters.” Egremont hesitated, and then added, “And I am the man who first taught Lord Rahl to hold a sword. I have cared for him since he was small enough to ride on my shoulders. He’s the closest thing to a son I’ve ever known.”  
  
Here the man struggled, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat before finishing, “Thank you. _Thank you_ for sparing his life, when it rested in your hands.”  
  
Richard sat down.  
  
“I never thought… It never occurred to me that Darken Rahl….”  
  
“Everyone has a father, my lord,” Egremont said quietly. “And a mother, too. Even kings.”  
  
Richard looked up. “Are you his…?”  
  
Egremont shook his head. “No. Like a father, I like to think, but I am not of the House of Rahl, my lord.”  
  
“I’m not a lord,” Richard said dully, fidgeting to be addressed so. It occurred to him that Egremont was still standing just inside the door. “Do you want to sit down?”  
  
It was very odd, to worry about his manners in this place. To act as if he were a host.  
  
Not a prisoner.  
  
“Lord Rahl has declared that so long as you are his guest, you are a lord. And so a lord you are.” Egremont took a chair across from Richard’s, in front of the fireplace.  
  
There was pride in Egremont’s voice, when he spoke of his master. Pride, and fierce loyalty.  
  
“Are all guests in the People’s Palace confined to their rooms?” Richard asked off handedly, staring into the fire.  
  
“It is a precaution, my lord. A wise one, until we are sure of you. I think you will agree, if you give the matter some thought.”  
  
Richard sighed. “I understand. It makes sense. But understanding doesn’t mean I like it. And what’s become of Zedd?”  
  
He didn’t ask about Mother Confessor Serena.  
  
He didn’t need to.  
  
“The wizard has been imprisoned in the tower of the Mord’Sith. Like you, he was confessed. But unlike you, he is a confirmed rebel and traitor. You don’t know the extent of his crimes.”  
  
Richard blinked, his brows climbing into his hair line as his lips parted in shock.  
  
He felt like someone had just dumped cold water over his head.  
  
“Extent of his crimes?”  
  
Just how far astray had Richard allowed himself to be led?  
  
“That’s for Lord Rahl to tell you, my lord, if he chooses.”  
  
“Please. Just Richard. I’m no one’s lord,” Richard mumbled, lost in his thoughts.  
  
“Very well, Richard,” Egremont smiled at him.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Egremont was admitted to Lord Rahl’s bedchamber to find his young master standing before the window, his dressing gown tied loosely around him. Mistress Cara lounged on the bed, barely concealed beneath a sheet, her unbound hair strewn across the pillows. Her armor was neatly placed in a pile by the bed, so that it would not be damaged.  
  
Egremont approved.  
  
“Were you successful?” Lord Rahl asked, turning to pin Egremont with those familiar blue eyes.  
  
“I believe so, my lord,” Egremont answered, cutting his gaze to Cara.  
  
Lord Rahl caught the expression.  
  
“You may speak freely in front of Mistress Cara, Egremont. She has more than proven her loyalty.”  
  
Egremont nodded, and then reported his conversation with the Seeker. When he had finished, he saluted and turned to go.  
  
“One last thing, Egremont,” Lord Rahl stopped him.  
  
“Yes, my lord?”  
  
Lord Rahl crossed the room slowly, giving Egremont the same considering look Egremont had seen turned upon dozens of others just before Lord Rahl’s dagger flashed through the air.  
  
“Mistress Cara noticed my odd behavior, and began to suspect I had been bewitched. She took steps to work towards my freedom. And yet you, the only person in this palace to know me better than she, did nothing. Why is that?”  
  
The question hung in the air, a cloud of tension so thick that it almost seemed visible.  
  
Egremont took a deep breath.  
  
“Because, my lord, I thought you were in love, and happy. I was glad.” He looked down at his boots, his heart dropping like a stone, to smash against the floor. “I was glad.”  
  
Lord Rahl said nothing.  
  
Eventually, Egremont looked up. There was a distant look on Lord Rahl’s face. His gaze was turned within.  
  
Bowing, Egremont took his leave.  
  
Cara scowled.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Darken strolled leisurely down the hall of the royal wing, giving himself time to collect his thoughts before he came face to face with the Seeker once more.  
  
The Seeker.  
  
His brother.  
  
Cara had left on her mission that morning. Denna had been summoned and would begin making her way to the palace after she had ridden to Calabra, to meet Demmin Nass.  
  
Kahlan and Nicholas had been entombed.  
  
All that was left to be done to move Darken’s plans forward was for him to speak with the Seeker.  
  
He paused outside the door to his old rooms, and then entered.  
  
Richard was in the sitting room, examining Darken’s old chess set, sitting sprawled sideways in his chair.  
  
“Do you play?” Darken heard himself ask.  
  
The Seeker started, leaping to his feet, his hand going halfway to his sword before he stopped. That interested Darken. The boy was no longer so naïve as to trust that Darken wasn’t truly an enemy, but neither was he rash enough to attack outright.  
  
He was learning.  
  
“No. I don’t know how,” Richard answered after a long moment of silence. “There’s a set that belongs to one of the councilman in Hartland, but it’s made of wood and some of the pieces are missing.”  
  
Prepared to react at the slightest sign of aggression, Darken seated himself across from Richard. Looking down at the chess board, he picked up the white queen, caressing the marble chess piece with the edge of his thumb.  
  
The White Queen.  
  
“Lord Rahl? Are you alright?”  
  
Darken jerked. “Apologies. I have found myself drifting ever since… Ever since.”  
  
Richard nodded, and extraordinarily, reached across the table to clasp Darken’s forearm.  
  
Their eyes met.  
  
“I understand,” the Seeker said, and indeed his face was dark with it, a bloody shadow.  
  
He _did_ understand, Darken realized. He was the only one who truly could.  
  
Darken closed his eyes, giving himself a mental shake.  
  
“I hope the rooms and clothes are to your liking. They were mine, when I was still a prince.” He surprised himself by adding, “I could teach you to play.”  
  
He wasn’t sure if he was speaking of the chess board.  
  
“Why are you keeping me here?!” The Seeker exploded, ignoring Darken’s offer, his face reddening. He jumped to his feet. “Why give me these clothes, let me keep my sword, feed me like a king? Why aren’t I in prison, like Zedd?”  
  
Darken tilted his head, his dark hair lying against his cheek. When Richard yelled, Darken could see something of their father, Panis Rahl, in him. It was the mouth.  
  
“Like a prince,” he said calmly. “I’ve been feeding you like a prince.” He put the white queen down and picked up a pawn. “There are things you don’t know.”  
  
“Then tell me! Enough games!” the Seeker demanded. Orange light flared around the mouth of his scabbard as the Sword of Truth glowed.  
  
“Does it always do that?” Darken asked archly, one brow raised.  
  
Richard had the self-possession to look contrite. “It does when I’m angry.”  
  
Darken was startled into a laugh. The sound of it surprised him, though it seemed to surprise the Seeker more.  
  
“If you will sit, I will tell you what you want to know,” Darken said once he could speak again.  
  
Richard sat.  
  
Darken studied him for a long moment, idly stroking his lips with two fingers as he considered the best way to proceed. Finally, he began.  
  
“No doubt the wizard and the Mother Confessor told you of the prophecy surrounding us, and their version of what happened at Brennidon. They will have said that I heard you were to be born there, and I sent my soldiers to kill all the children, but that the wizard saved you, and hid you in Hartland. Am I right?”  
  
Richard nodded, crossing his arms, a frown etching deep lines around his mouth. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Darken thought Richard looked like him when he did that. Darken, too, had once been a sullen young man.  
  
“That,” Darken pronounced with conviction, “is not true.”  
  
“Then what –”  
  
“Patience, Richard.” Darken paused, closing his eyes as if he needed to gather himself for what he said next.  
  
Perhaps he did. It seemed at times that so much of his life was woven with lies that he no longer knew where they began and ended.  
  
“Did you know that Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander was once the First Wizard of D’Hara, my father’s trusted friend and advisor? In fact, Zeddicus was to be my tutor in the magical arts.”  
  
“He never mentioned it.” Richard looked troubled.  
  
“No, he wouldn’t.” Darken wet his lips, rolling the chess piece – the pawn – he held in his left hand between his fingers. “You see, the story is not at all what my enemies have spread. The truth is, Zeddicus turned traitor. He had his own daughter disguise herself and seduce my father, Panis Rahl. With a Rahl child they could raise to be their puppet, the Confessors would be able to destroy D’Hara from within. We would be D’Hara no longer, but a province of Aydindril, where the Mother Confessor rules all.”  
  
Richard went white, an uncomprehending look on his face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.  
  
“You are that child, Richard,” Darken sat forward, staring into his brother’s face. In that moment, he believed every word he was speaking.  
  
He had to.  
  
“When I heard that a brother of mine was in the hands of the Confessors, I sent the Dragon Corp to Brennidon to reclaim him. To bring him to me, so that he could be raised as my blood. My brother. A prince of D’Hara! But Zeddicus,” Darken spat the name, twisting his face and filling his voice with disgust, “wouldn’t have it. He called upon the Confessors. One by one, they confessed my soldiers, and told them to kill the children. And Zeddicus took you and hid you away from me, across the Boundary. To await the day when the Mother Confessor would come for you, and you could be poisoned against me. Just as the people of Brennidon have been poisoned against me. Just as they have been tricked into thinking I am their enemy, when it was the Confessors who slew their sons. When it was the Confessors who slew _my_ son.”  
  
Darken broke off, panting.  
  
“How do I know what you say is true?” Richard asked hollowly. His skin was ashen, his eyes bright with tears.  
  
Darken took a deep breath and let his own tears flow, a stream of warm salt rolling down his cheek. “You don’t. But consider what you know. What has been done to you. What was done to me, when the first Rahl boy the Confessors tried to corrupt was thought to be out of reach. I was seduced, just as Panis Rahl was seduced, and more. So much more…”  
  
Darken placed the pawn back on the chess board, and then he rose, circling the table to lay his hands on Richard’s shoulders. Low and urgent, he said, “It isn’t your fault, little brother. None of it is. You are innocent, just as my son was, when he was murdered in his cradle.” Darken shuddered, a muffled whimper passing his lips.  
  
For a long time, it seemed as if his performance was to come to naught. Richard didn’t move. He was like a statue, his face as pale and flat as the floor in Darken’s throne room.  
  
But then Richard stood, placing his hands on Darken’s shoulders in turn. Hesitantly, tentatively, he pulled Darken into a brotherly embrace.  
  
Darken smiled.  
  



	2. Part II

 

Salindra sat in her coach, fanning herself with her fine new lady’s fan, a thing of lace, teal silk, and bright feathers. It matched her dress, of course.

“Sorry for the delay, m’lady,” one of her attendants called through the window of the carriage door. “A crowd has gathered in the square.”

Annoyed, Salindra snapped her fan shut, and then slid down the leather seat to lean out the window. “And why is there a crowd? It’s too hot to sit here all day!”

At this rate, she wouldn’t be home in time to freshen up before her latest suitor called. And she had high hopes for him. He was a duke, after all.

Salindra had found that money could buy very many things, including a new past, if one knew where to look. After a few months of travel and some discrete inquiries, Salindra had traded two of Kahlan’s ruby encrusted tiaras for a manor house and papers that declared she was the third daughter of Count Edmun of Ceria, a noble family that had been wiped out in the war between the Midlands and D’Hara.

Except for long lost Countess Salindra.

All that had been left to do was buy a new wardrobe and go about the business of finding herself a noble husband who wasn’t too ghastly. Though she didn’t necessarily want to marry, now that she didn’t have to work for a living she had to fill the time somehow. Husband hunting was amusing enough, and if push came to shove, she could always turn the men down.

“A proclamation has been posted,” Paul, her favorite footman, came to the door. He filled out his livery quite well, with his broad shoulders and trim waist. Salindra always had him serve at dinner, so that she could admire him.

“A proclamation? And what does it say?”

Paul went to find out. Salindra took the opportunity to appreciate his backside. He looked good in Ceria teal, though not as good as Salindra herself.

One of the reasons she had chosen her new House was because of how the House colors flattered her complexion. 

“Lord Rahl has declared the county to be annexed by D’Hara,” Paul said once he’d returned. “We’re part of the empire now. My lady shouldn’t worry about her estate!” he hastened to say when Salindra frowned. “Lord Rahl often leaves the nobles of his new territories alone, so long as they don’t make trouble. We’ll simply pay our taxes to D’Hara now, instead of Aydindril.”

Salindra put a smile on her face, though her nerves quaked. Could Darken Rahl know where she was? That she had stolen from him? 

“Why Paul, how clever you are,” she cooed at her footman to distract herself, batting her eyes.

He returned her smile, and blushed sweetly, in a way that made Salindra want to gobble him up, though she half feared that he wouldn’t last one night as her lover.

“There’s more, my lady,” Paul said, his smile fading. “Queen Kahlan and the young prince have both been assassinated, by no other than the Mother Confessor herself.”

Salindra felt all the blood drain from her face.

Kahlan. Dead.

She had long suspected. How could she not have, with the way things were the night Salindra had made her escape?

But hearing it was different.

“If the Confessors weren’t doomed before, they certainly are now…” she mused.

“My lady?”

Salindra blinked. “That will be all, Paul.”

She wanted to weep in private.

 

**-l-**

“Your Grace, I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” Salindra began as she entered her dining hall.

  
The Duke of Kaesis made no answer. He didn’t so much as move.

“Your Grace?” Salindra called, her stomach doing flops and then promptly tying itself in knots. She moved further into the hall, thinking the worst.

A hard hand grasped her by the back of her neck. Salindra smelled leather oil and jasmine. “Mistress Cara,” she said without turning to see who held her.

She hated the way her voice trembled.

“You remember me,” Cara drawled as she stepped from the alcove where she’d lain in wait. “I’m touched.”

The Mord’Sith roughly thrust Salindra into a chair next to the duke, jostling him as she did.

The duke fell over, his head cracking against the heavy oak table.

“Is he dead?” Salindra dared to ask, her mouth gone dry.

“No,” Cara said, her expression stony.

There was a pause.

“Am  _I_  dead?” Salindra forced out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cara smirked. Salindra’s life flashed before her eyes.

“Not yet,” Cara answered.

 

**-l-**

Richard was in his sitting room, trying to study one of the books he had been given when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, expecting it to be Darken Rahl.

His brother.

It was General Egremont.

“Richard,” Egremont said solemnly, raising his fist to his chest in salute.

Richard supposed he’d have to get used to that, if he really decided to stay. To be a Rahl.

“What is it?” Richard stood once he saw the look on Egremont’s face. The man was worried. Over the months Richard had been living in the People’s Palace, Richard had only known Egremont to ever worry about one thing.

Darken Rahl.

“Lord Rahl is… he is sitting in the catacombs again. Will you come?” 

“Of course I’ll come. I’ll come right now.” 

Richard paused long enough to pull on his boots, then he followed Egremont into the labyrinthine halls of the palace. Richard still had to have an escort whenever he left his rooms. His brother had explained it was so he wouldn’t get lost. 

 

**-l-**

Richard found Darken in the catacombs where all of the Rahls were buried, captured forever in images of carved marble. Darken was standing over the tombs of his late wife and son. He’d been doing that more and more often of late.

Richard cleared his throat, remembering the last time he had surprised his lord brother. It had earned both of them a scratch or two.

Darken looked over his shoulder, sighing when he saw Richard there. “Leave me in peace.”

Richard shook his head. “You’re going to put Egremont into an early grave if you keep doing this. He worries.”

Whirling, his black hair flying about his face like the wings of a raven, Darken exploded, “And what of my son’s early grave?! What of that?”

His outcry echoed throughout the catacombs, until it seemed that the question had swelled into a great cacophony of voices, surrounding them, being asked again and again.

Richard flinched, calling himself seven kinds of idiot. He went to his brother, laying a hand on his arm. “Poor word choice. Sorry.”

Darken turned back to face the stone effigies. Richard followed his gaze, looking down at the likeness of Queen Kahlan.

Kahlan the Confessor. 

Darken Rahl’s Mistress.

“I still don’t understand why you keep it a secret she confessed you. Surely if the people heard they would rise up. There can’t be much worse than what she did to you.”

Darken shook his head. “I’ve told you, little brother. It would make me look weak. And a weak Lord Rahl makes for a weak D’Hara. No,” Darken reached out, tracing his fingers over the ridges that formed Kahlan’s hair, “that purpose is served by letting the world know what the Mother Confessor did. The rest is more damaging than helpful.”

Richard sighed, but nodded. It was so complicated, being a Rahl. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He’d already completely failed at being the Seeker.

In the end, he was just a woodcutter’s son.

“Have you given any more thought to what you will do?” Darken’s voice broke the stillness. “The offer still stands. If you don’t want to accept the name of Rahl, I will have my wizards find a way to get you back across the Boundary. You can go home again. Back to your life, as it was before.”

Richard laughed, a wild, desperate sound that joined Darken’s words in echoing through the catacombs.

“Sometimes I think I’d like that better than anything else in the world. I’d like to wake up in my bed, and find out this was all a crazy dream, and I’d better hurry if I want to help Anna carry her basket in the market.” He paused, dashing a hand over his eyes. 

“But?” Darken prompted.

“But then I wonder what I would do there. Could I go back to being a woodcutter? I don’t think I could.”

And what would Anna do, what would anyone from his old life do when he woke screaming in the night, begging Mother Confessor Serena not to make him do it, not to make him kill?

To please spare the baby.

What would they do in those moments when he drifted off, reliving the feeling of his sword passing through flesh? Seeing blood bubble and gush from Kahlan’s lips, as clear as if it was happening again. What would they think when his reaction to being surprised was to draw steel and sound a battle cry?

_What would they do about the blood and the sword and the swirling black eyes?_

“No. I don’t think I can go back.”

He wasn’t the same man who had left.

“Does this mean you’ve made your decision?” Darken sounded hopeful. Or at least Richard thought he did. The more time he spent with his brother, the more complex the man seemed. He was like the palace itself – a maze of halls that one simply had to learn by walking them.

“I guess it does,” Richard heard himself answer. “I can’t go back, and I can do some good here. I can try, anyway. And besides,” Richard cracked a smile, “you’d miss me.”

Darken turned to face Richard fully, the long train of his robe swirling artfully around him. Richard found himself wondering if Darken had had to practice that. Was that one of the lessons Richard would have now? How to wear a royal robe without looking like a court jester?

“You are the only family I have left,” Darken said. For once, his emotion showed clearly on his face. “Of course I would miss you. I need you, little brother.”

Richard wasn’t good at making pretty speeches. Not like Darken. He showed his feelings through action.

He pulled Darken Rahl into a hug, slapping him on the back.

Darken stiffened in his arms, and Richard had to wonder how many hugs the older man had received in his life. He decided he would try to make up for the lack.

Darken cleared his throat, and Richard laughed, letting his brother go.

“I will have it announced at tomorrow’s devotional. You will stand with me, and I will tell the people I have a new heir: The Seeker, Richard Rahl.”

“Should we really tell them I’m the Seeker?” Richard worried, turning to look at the tombs.

“Oh yes,” Darken reassured him, his voice rich with triumph. Richard thought it must be because he was happy to not be left alone again. “That you are the Seeker is a great blessing. We may be able to end this war peacefully, because of you. You are the living embodiment of what I have been trying for so long to accomplish. The Hero of the Midlands, and the Crown Prince of D’Hara: one and the same.”

Richard raised his brows, trying to work the tension out of his forehead. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of this.”

This time Darken laughed. “Of course you will. You’re a Rahl.”

Richard snorted. “Come on. Let’s go up before Egremont sends a rescue party.”

 

**-l-**

“An outstanding charade, my lord,” Egremont said once he and Lord Rahl were alone in Lord Rahl’s council chamber.

“It was,” Lord Rahl agreed. “At times I think I should have been a player on the stage.”

Egremont smiled. Yes, Darken Rahl was an excellent player, so good that he could deceive even himself.

But Egremont was glad young Lord Richard had decided to stay. He would be good for Lord Rahl, as well as D’Hara. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Lord Rahl said. He already had his nose buried in his journey book, reviewing the reports of his soldiers. 

“Why make the Seeker your heir? Why not just kill him?”

Lord Rahl looked up from his journey book, a blaze in those blue eyes. “I have already tried to avert the prophecy in that way. And clearly, my attempts failed. I must use other means to ensure it doesn’t come to pass. Richard is unlikely to put the Sword of Truth through my heart if he loves me.”

“Ah,” Egremont nodded. “Brilliant, my lord. You will make him love you.”

“I will make him love me.”

Yes, Lord Rahl was very good at lying to himself.

When next Egremont looked up, Lord Rahl was no longer turning the pages of his journey book. He had that lost look on his face again. He simply stared straight ahead.

Egremont cleared his throat, knowing that what he was about to say was something the King of D’Hara did not want to hear, but desperately needed to. “It is alright to miss her, my lord. Even if you feel you shouldn’t.”

Lord Rahl blinked. “Mistress Cara writes that she has found Salindra. She will return shortly.”

“I didn’t mean Mistress Cara, my lord.”

Lord Rahl snapped his gaze to Egremont’s face. “Then who did you mean?”

Egremont gave Darken Rahl a significant look.

Lord Rahl’s lips twisted, his eyes sparking with fury.

And pain.

“ _You dare_ ,” he growled, a man possessed. 

In an instant, his dagger was out. He lunged, the wicked curve of the blade arching for Egremont’s throat. 

Egremont caught Lord Rahl’s arm by the wrist, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. He blocked a blow from Lord Rahl’s free hand, and then there was the creak of leather and jingle of chainmail as he gave a mighty wrench, turning Lord Rahl in place, twisting his arm up behind his back. Pressure on the bones and tendons of the wrist forced Lord Rahl’s hand open, making him drop his dagger.

It hit the floor with a clatter of steel on stone.

Lord Rahl screamed an incoherent, inhuman sound. An outpouring of grief and misery. He thrashed, trying to break free.

Egremont was unperturbed. This had happened before. It would happen again. Until the day Egremont was not fast enough to defend himself, he would continue to serve.

He’d promised the boy’s mother. He’d promised precious Queen Elaine.

“What have I taught you about attacking in anger?” Egremont whispered softly, soothingly, waiting for Darken’s struggles to subside.

He was no longer speaking to his lord, his master, but to the little prince he had devoted his life to.

Darken gasped, his eyes watering and his face red. He began to struggle less and less, until Egremont let his arms go.

Darken turned and rested his face against the leather of Egremont’s breastplate. Egremont put his arms around him. He could feel Darken tremble.

“Egremont,” Darken croaked. Then he leaned to the side and gave a wretched heave, spewing yellow bile and that morning’s breakfast all over the floor. 

“Breathe a word of this to anyone,” Darken threatened in a hoarse whisper once he could catch his breath enough to speak, “and I’ll have you hanged.”

“Of course, my lord,” Egremont said as he patted his boy’s back. “Of course.”


	3. Part III

“Mistress Denna,” Darken greeted his Mord’Sith.   
  
“My Lord,” Denna purred in return, her fist over her heart. “It has been too long since I have been in your presence.”  
  
Darken waved the flattery away, well used to Denna’s attempts at charming him. “You retrieved it?”  
  
“From Demmin Nass, at the ruins of Calabra. Yes, my lord. General Egremont has taken it to be placed in the chamber with the other one.”  
  
Darken stood, his robe trailing behind him as he descended the steps of his throne dais. It made a slithering sound as he moved.  
  
His robe.  
  
“You have done very well,” Darken told Denna, rewarding her with a light caress. She leaned into his touch, her eyes flickering closed. Darken smirked.  
  
Denna was often defiant, but she loved him more than she herself knew. He’d made sure of that, when he broke her. It was why she was so adept at the fine art of torture.  
  
She had learned from the best.  
  
“You will start on the wizard at once.”  
  
“Yes, my lord.”  
  
There was the sound of hurried steps in the corridor. Richard burst into sight, moving in a funny little half run, half trot, as if he were trying to hurry and look dignified at the same time.  
  
Darken’s lips twitched up at the corners.   
  
“Sorry,” Richard was sheepish. “Am I late? Egremont said we were supposed to be holding court, but I was trying to – ”  
  
Richard blinked and looked at Denna, flushing red. “Sorry,” he said again, looking at his feet.  
  
Darken had to suppress a chuckle. “This is Mistress Denna, one of our women warriors.”  
  
“Mord’Sith,” Richard smiled at Denna. “I know.”  
  
He held out his hand for Denna to shake. Denna took it, squeezing firmly, her fingers playing suggestively around Richard’s palm.  
  
“I have heard many tales of Lord Rahl’s new heir in my travels,” Denna said smoothly. “My lord, if I may?”  
  
She reached for Richard’s collar. Darken could see that Richard had fastened the top of his red and gold tunic crookedly, likely in his hurry to be on time for court. Denna unfastened the hooks and did them up again, properly this time.  
  
She smiled one of her seductive smiles, her teeth very white next to her ruby red lips.  
  
Richard gave her a doe-eyed look.  
  
Darken frowned.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Cara returned a fortnight after Denna’s arrival, her quarry in tow. Darken received them in his private sitting room, Cara leading Salindra by a collar and chain. Salindra followed meekly, a fading bruise on her cheek showing that she had already learned the price of defiance.  
  
“In the future, avoid marking her face,” Darken said to Cara as he examined the woman, taking in Salindra’s delicate frame and crown of golden curls. She really was quite beautiful. What a princess was supposed to look like.  
  
Cara raised a brow, but assented, handing Salindra’s chain to Darken.  
  
“Leave us.”  
  
Cara left, though not before trailing one of her gloved hands over Darken’s chest. It pleased him that she was possessive of him. That she wished to remind him of her touch before leaving him alone with another woman.  
  
Like Denna, she loved him more than she realized.  
  
“I hear you are a countess now, my lady,” Darken circled Salindra, a lightly mocking note in his voice.  
  
Salindra stayed silent, watching him with knowing eyes.  
  
“I’ve wondered at times… I wonder, what would have happened if I had chosen you that night, instead of her.”  
  
He almost had. He remembered looking Salindra up and down and thinking she knew how to please a man. How different would it all have been, if he had chosen Salindra instead of Kahlan…  
  
Salindra wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, her voice husky as she answered, “Choose me now, and we can find out.”  
  
She pressed herself against him, the metal of her chain and collar cold against the exposed skin of Darken’s chest. When he made no move to stop her, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and winding her hands in his hair, grinding her hips against his in slow, sensuous circles.   
  
He could feel his pulse quicken, his body growing hot and hard.  
  
What he had thought that night was true. Salindra knew how to please a man.  
  
Not bothering with grace or foreplay, too impatient even to undress, Darken cleared the top of his desk with the sweep of one arm, and then shoved Salindra onto her back, flipping her skirts over her head and parting his robes to free his engorged cock.  
  
He pushed his way into her, making her cry out. Then he tightened his grip on her hips, closed his eyes, and pretended that this was a year ago, at the D’Haran National Festival, and he had chosen to take Salindra to his bed.  
  
Kahlan had never happened.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“Dennee? Are you there?” a man’s voice called.  
  
Dennee recognized that voice. “Wizard? Zedd? Is that you?”  
  
She went to the barred window of her cell door, her foot shackles clanking. She was pale and dirty. She’d lost weight. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been here, locked in a tower of the People’s Palace, a Rada Han at her throat. With no way to see the sky, one day flowed into the next in an endless stretch of miserable darkness.  
  
Darken Rahl had visited her only once. For trying to protect his son, he had told her, she was to serve life in prison rather than face execution. She should be grateful for his mercy.  
  
She wasn’t.  
  
“It’s me!” the voice called out.   
  
Dennee peered through the bars to see Zedd’s dirty face behind the barred window of the cell across from hers. “Are you alright?” she asked him, knowing even as her lips formed the question that it was a stupid one.  
  
“I’m alive,” Zedd answered. “But listen, we don’t have much time.” Zedd’s eyes darted about the dimly lit hall. A guard could interrupt them at any moment. “They’re going to move me. Soon. I may be able to get a message out, or even escape. Tell me where the rest of the Confessors are hiding.”  
  
Dennee opened her mouth, only to have Zedd shush her. “What is it?” she called desperately after a moment of tense silence.  
  
“I thought I heard footsteps.”  
  
“There’s no one coming,” Dennee assured him after craning her neck, trying to see down the hall.  
  
“Then tell me. Tell me where I can find what remains of the Sisterhood.”  
  
Dennee told him.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“Did I do well, mistress?” Zedd asked.  
  
He sat at Denna’s feet, leaning against her legs, his face pressed to the buckles at her knee. She was so beautiful, his lady in red. Her leather armor accentuated her toned muscles and womanly curves. Her long braid was the color of gold and honey, and when Zedd looked into her eyes, he saw the sky that was denied him in his prison cell.  
  
Denna stroked his hair, and Zedd knew bliss.   
  
“You’ve done very well, Zeddicus. Lord Rahl will be so pleased. I’m very proud of you.”  
  
Zedd rejoiced in the words. He was Denna’s, completely and utterly. He had been lost, when Serena died. He saw that now. Being with Denna gave him purpose. A compass to follow.  
  
He was happy to have a mistress again.  
  
“Would you like to please me even more, my pet?” Denna asked, her hands on Zedd’s Rada Han.  
  
“Yes, mistress,” Zedd breathed, his heart pounding in his chest.  
  
Denna removed Zedd’s Rada Han. “Make yourself pretty for me.”  
  
Zedd waved his hands.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Salindra strode through the palace halls on Darken Rahl’s arm. She was wearing one of Kahlan’s old dresses, tailored to fit, until her wardrobe could be fetched from her manor house.  
  
She had once dreamt of such a position for herself.  
  
Now she hated all of these people and this palace and wished the thrice damned fools would stop dragging her here and making her wear a dead woman’s clothes. She’d even give back all the jewels if it meant being done with the Rahls.  
  
She smiled prettily at Darken Rahl. “So I am to make your brother fall in love with me, steer him in the direction you wish him to go, and report to you on his doings.”  
  
“And we will consider the matter of your thievery forgotten,” Darken returned her smile with a razor thin one of his own.  
  
“And if I fail or try to flee, you will mount my head on a spike.”  
  
“It would be one of the prettier ones to grace the palace gates.”  
  
In another life, Salindra thought she and Darken Rahl could have been friends. “I understand.”  
  
She understood all too well. Lord Rahl wanted his heir under control – and didn’t trust a Mord’Sith’s loyalty wouldn’t be swayed to the younger man. That was why he used Salindra. He thought her less dangerous.  
  
She would have to prove him wrong.  
  
They reached the throne room.  
  
“Richard,” Lord Rahl said as the younger man approached. “May I present Countess Salindra of Ceria? She will be staying with us for some time. Lady Salindra, my brother and heir, Richard Rahl.”  
  
“An honor to meet you, my lord.” Salindra curtsied deeply, and then offered Richard her hand to kiss.  
  
He shook it.  
  
“Nice to meet you too, Lady Salindra.”  
  
Salindra raised a brow. Lord Rahl’s heir was clearly still a farm boy in expensive clothes. But he was handsome, and there was something winsome about him. A sort of charm that couldn’t be learned.  
  
There were worse fates than having to make this man fall in love with her, Salindra decided.  
  
“I must attend to a matter of state,” Lord Rahl was saying. “I trust you will see to Lady Salindra in my absence, brother?”  
  
“I’d be glad to,” Richard smiled, offering his arm to Salindra.  
  
At least he knew to do that much.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“Denna has gotten the likely locations of the last of the Confessors out of the one we have imprisoned in the tower, my lord. She reports that there will be some at Aydindril, but most will have fled to the island of Valeria. Shall I send Mistress Cara?”  
  
Darken sat in the window seat of his council chamber, looking down at the courtyard below as he and Egremont went through the day’s reports. He held up a hand, thumb and two fingers extended.   
  
“No. Send Triana. I have a more important task for Cara.”  
  
“More important than hunting the last Confessors, my lord?”  
  
Darken turned to face Egremont, gesturing to a scroll that lay on the council table. “Queen Milena and I have come to an understanding at last. She will give up the third Box of Orden. I trust no one but Cara to fetch it.”  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Salindra walked through the gardens of the People’s Palace on Richard Rahl’s arm. He was sweet, and clumsy, picking her flowers and telling her about how this plant grew by the river in Hartland, or such-and-such a flower was his mother’s favorite. Salindra almost thought she could fall in love with him, if she were the sort to fall in love.  
  
She didn’t think of Kahlan.  
  
“Am I boring you?” Richard asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. “It’s just. My brother, I mean my  _lord_  brother, told me to entertain you and I’m not really sure what you’d like to do.”  
  
Salindra laughed, and it was real, a warm tinkling sound of rain on a tin roof. “I’m not bored. How about this?” she winked at him. “Don’t think of me as a countess, and don’t think of yourself as a prince. We’re just Salindra and Richard. What would Richard like to do with Salindra?”   
  
She put just enough of a suggestive tone behind her words to let Richard move things in that direction if he wanted. She had a feeling that if she was more overt, sweet Richard would run from her like a lamb from the slaughter.  
  
“Oh,” he puffed out his cheeks, his brow wrinkling as he thought. Salindra stepped closer so that he might smell her perfume and feel the press of her breasts against the side of his arm. He looked down at her, and she looked up, batting her eyes. For an instant, she thought he had him. She just needed to stand on her tiptoes, and they would be kissing.  
  
Then Richard looked away.  
  
“Denna!” he shouted, waving his free arm like a maniac.  
  
A Mord’Sith was coming down the garden path, the tall tower of the temple where the Mord’Sith carried out their torture rising into the sky behind her. Salindra knew just what this Mistress Denna had been doing.  
  
She wondered if Richard did. Then, she decided she didn’t want to know. Let him stay Sweet Richard.  
  
She wanted to believe in his goodness.  
  
“My lord,” Denna answered Richard with the thump of her fist against her chest.   
  
“I’ll be right back,” he smiled to Salindra, then hurried over to the Mord’Sith.   
  
Salindra watched as Richard and Denna exchanged a warrior’s clasp, and then began talking, animatedly on Richard’s part, grudgingly on Denna’s. And yet, even the Mord’Sith couldn’t resist Sweet Richard for long. Soon she was smiling, and those smiles reached her eyes. She really did enjoy the young prince’s company. Salindra knew. She could tell.  
  
A working girl could always tell.  
  
Salindra flipped her lacy fan open, fanning herself and winking at Richard over the edge of the frothy accessory when he and Denna looked her way.  
  
 _So this is my rival,_  she thought, subtly studying Denna from crown to sole.  
  
Thinking of Darken Rahl, she looked down at herself, at Kahlan’s borrowed clothes.  
  
She had more than one rival.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Richard was in the royal council chamber. He was supposed to be reviewing military strategy with Egremont, but he kept finding himself at the balcony, looking down at the courtyard below.  
  
Denna was there, addressing a line of soldiers. Richard couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.  
  
“What is it that intrigues you so? Ah, I see,” Egremont said, looking over Richard’s shoulder. “You and your brother have similar tastes, my lord.”  
  
“What?” Richard gaped. He could feel heat suffusing his cheeks. “I don’t –”  
  
“Good. Don’t. It can never be, my lord. Not with her.” Egremont’s voice was filled with firm command.  
  
“But why?” Richard asked, turning to look down at Denna again. As he watched, she punched a soldier in the throat, bringing the man to his knees. Richard winced. But surely, Denna wouldn’t do that unless the man had done something to deserve it… “Darken and Cara are always,” Richard flapped his hands. “You know.”  
  
“Lord Rahl doesn’t need an heir. He has one. You,” Egremont poked Richard in the chest, making him feel like a little boy who’d been caught stealing apples. “But you have your duty to D’Hara to think of. Put Mistress Denna from your mind, and focus on Countess Salindra. That’s what she’s here for.”  
  
Richard returned to the table where his maps and figures were laid out, sinking heavily into his chair. “Darken called her here just to marry me?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was afraid it was something like that.”  
  
“Do you find the countess unappealing?” Egremont sat across from Richard, his brow raised in the same way Darken was always doing. Richard spared a moment to wonder whether the general had picked the habit up from his lord, or the lord from his general.  
  
“No, no, nothing like that!” Richard hastened to assure Egremont. “Salindra’s great. Pretty, and smart, and beautiful, and she’s patient with me… She’s everything a princess is supposed to be.”  
  
“Exactly why Lord Rahl chose her for you. But if she is, as you said, a perfect princess, then what is the problem, young lord?”  
  
Richard grinned a sheepish grin, shrugging his shoulders. He stared down at his maps when he said, “I don’t know. Maybe the problem is… I don’t want a princess.”  
  
Egremont laughed. And kept laughing, until Richard was a little worried the old general would hurt himself. “Forgive me, Richard,” Egremont panted. “It’s just that you’re the third Rahl I’ve served, and I’m starting to think wanting things you can’t have is in the blood!”  
  
Richard chuckled along with his teacher, and then they got down to business. Richard was supposed to present Darken with a workable plan of siege for some island called Valeria by the end of the day.


	4. Part IV

Salindra stood in her chambers, staring at herself in the mirror. She was in her corset and underskirts, deciding what gown to wear for the day.  
  
She hated this. She hated this place. She hated the way Kahlan’s dresses clashed with her complexion.  
  
She hated these rooms, where she’d spent so much time. They’d been Kahlan’s, when Salindra was her lady in waiting.  
  
There was a ghost around every corner.  
  
Salindra shook her head, making her golden hair bounce. Every day, she promised herself she was done thinking about Kahlan. “Darken Rahl is counting his crops before the harvest’s come in,” she told her reflection. “Putting me in the queen’s suite.”  
  
It was more likely that the true reason behind it was that it would make it harder for Salindra to escape. A quad of Mord’Sith patrolled the royal wing ever since Kahlan – ever since the incident, instead of just standing guard at the end of the hall, and Darken Rahl’s bedchamber was connected to Salindra’s. He’d hear her, if she moved around too much in the night.  
  
Of course, another reason could be the nights when he came through that door, sinking into her bed just as his cock sunk between her thighs. He always lingered, clinging to her, letting her pet his hair. She’d even sung him a lullaby, once.  
  
He had been both angered and soothed.  
  
Salindra thought he wanted the soft touch his Mord’Sith didn’t know how to give. But she wondered who he saw, when he pushed Kahlan’s nightdress up over Salindra’s thighs and made love to her in Kahlan’s bed. Did he see Salindra the whore or Salindra the countess? Did he see just Salindra?  
  
Or did he see his dead wife.  
  
“Fucking Rahls,” she growled, pulling at her corset laces. She couldn’t get her bodice to sit right over it, even though this dress had just been altered to fit her.  
  
She wasn’t even going to start speculating on the reasons behind why Lord Rahl slept with her every few nights, while simultaneously pushing her at Sweet Richard. Maybe there was some complex point of strategy that would become clear if Salindra was privy to all the parts of the puzzle. Or maybe he got some sick thrill out of it.  
  
Salindra didn’t know or care. This was about survival.  
  
Giving up on her corset laces, Salindra called for her maid, Alice.  
  
Another thing she’d inherited from Kahlan.  
  
“Hush my lady, hush. Don’t worry. You’ve worked yourself into a fit.”  
  
Salindra had no idea why the younger girl felt the need to mother her.  
  
“Let me see,” Alice was saying, her sturdy fingers pulling and prodding. “There’s no use, my lady. This is going to have to be let out.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Salindra demanded.  
  
“Your bosom has gotten…” Alice trailed off. Her wide eyes made it clear that she didn’t know how to finish that sentence.  
  
Salindra turned to the side, examining her bust. She didn’t look any different.  
  
Or did she?  
  
She pulled her bodice off and tossed it at Alice, and then nearly broke one of her nails trying to undo her corset. “Get it off,” she demanded, not knowing why she was panicking.  
  
Why it felt like she couldn’t breathe.  
  
Alice worked quickly, undoing the bow at the bottom of the corset and loosening the laces until Salindra could pull the offending garment ungracefully over her head. She went back to the mirror, her breasts hanging free and full.  
  
Too full?  
  
She cupped them in her hands, hefting them gently.  
  
She pinched one of her nipples, and nearly cried out it hurt so badly.  
  
A pendant, a magical charm against pregnancy that she’d scrimped and saved for when she first entered her profession hung around her neck. Salindra picked it up, inspecting the tiny silver medallion.  
  
It was cracked.  
  
She swayed, sinking to the floor in front of the mirror. In a haze, she counted on her fingers. How many days had it been since she bled?  
  
Too many.  
  
“Damn,” she hissed, tears pricking at her eyes.  
  
“My lady?” Alice knelt next to her, a half fearful, half smiling look on her face. The poor girl didn’t know whether to congratulate or commiserate. Perhaps she didn’t yet understand what Salindra knew. After all, Salindra’s stomach was still flat.  
  
She beckoned Alice closer.  
  
“Yes, my lady?”  
  
Doing her very best impression of Darken Rahl, Salindra grasped a handful of Alice’s hair and pulled, yanking the girl forward so Salindra could whisper in her ear. “Speak of this to anyone, and I will personally cut out your tongue. Do you understand?”  
  
Alice nodded.  
  
“Good.” Salindra shoved her away. “Now get the red velvet gown with the gold surcoat.”  
  
It would hide what needed to be hidden.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Richard screamed. He was so hoarse with it, he could almost taste blood trickling down his throat.  
  
He was in a chair in the Mord’Sith tower, his hands shackled down. He wore no shirt. Denna held an Agiel to his abdomen.  
  
She lifted it away, and Richard gasped for air, looking down at his skin. It always fascinated him, watching the black lines of torture magic curl through his veins until they vanished completely. He jerked in his seat.  
  
An aftershock.  
  
“That was much better, my lord,” Denna said, leaning down to unlock Richard’s shackles. “You didn’t pass out this time.”  
  
Richard nodded, swallowing repeatedly. He didn’t feel like he could talk yet. Denna handed him a goblet of water, and he greedily gulped it down, spilling half of it before he even got the cup to his lips. “Thank you again for helping me with this, Denna,” he said once he’d quenched his thirst. “Darken said I didn’t have to, but I didn’t want to be the first Rahl who can’t wield an Agiel.”  
  
He wouldn’t fail his brother, or D’Hara. He was determined.  
  
He’d already failed enough for one lifetime.  
  
Looking at him, Denna shook her head. “You are a strange man, my lord.”  
  
“Just Richard,” he corrected her, shifting his feet and trying to stand, only to fall back into his chair again. “And how am I strange?”  
  
Denna smiled wryly, “I torture you until you can’t stand, and you thank me for it.”  
  
“When I’m Lord Rahl, I’ll be better because you helped me. This is an important rite of passage for the heir, according to Egremont.” Richard caught at Denna’s red gloved hand, squeezing it. “I know it can’t be easy, having to cause me so much pain. That’s why I’m thanking you.”  
  
Denna fixed him with a sharp stare. Richard licked his lips.  
  
She pulled her hand away. “Strange man,” she murmured.  
  
There was a beat of silence.  
  
“When do you think I’ll be able to hold one?” Richard asked.  
  
“Soon, my lord.” Denna turned away, sheathing her Agiel and hanging the keys to the shackles on a hook by the door.  
  
Richard stood, and managed to stay standing this time. On legs that trembled, he made his way to Denna, laying his hand on her shoulder.  
  
He wanted to touch her braid, but didn’t quite dare.  
  
“I hope it’s not too soon,” he said, his lips a hair’s breadth from the back of her neck. “I’d miss the time I get to spend with you.”  
  
Denna laughed. “The time I spend torturing you until you weep and scream?”  
  
“No.” Richard grasped Denna’s shoulders, turning her to face him. She put her hands on his chest. “The time I get to spend with you, in here.” Richard tapped the side of his head with two fingers. “Remember what you told me? When the pain gets unbearable, imagine you’re somewhere else.”  
  
Richard leaned down, pressing his forehead to Denna’s. “Wherever I imagine myself, Denna, I’m with you. I’m always with you.”  
  
“My lord,” Denna started, her voice breathy.  
  
“Richard,” he corrected her again, before crushing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.  
  
Then it was like fire ignited between them. There were no more doubts, no more words spoken. Just the rustle of cloth and the creak of leather as Denna pulled Richard’s breeches open and he worked at the buckles of her armor.  
  
He pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his cock trapped between his stomach and the leather still covering the apex of her thighs. He could feel her heat, the swell of her sex. He moaned into her neck, thrusting against her, not caring that it chafed.  
  
“Richard,” she said in his ear, making him moan again.  
  
And then one of his knees gave out, and they fell, Denna expertly rolling them so that Richard wouldn’t crack his head against the stone floor. She laughed, and he joined her, shaking all over.  
  
He should have timed this better. He wasn’t at his best just after a session of training with the Agiel.  
  
“Sorry,” he apologized, pressing kisses along her collarbone.  
  
Taking pity on him, Denna got up and pulled Richard to his feet, only to shove him back into the wooden chair where he’d been shackled. “Now we begin a different kind of training,” she said as she wiggled out of her leathers, her breasts shaking enticingly.  
  
Then she spread her legs over his lap and mounted him, Richard uttering a guttural cry at the feel of it.  
  
What followed was just as torturous as the Agiel training. Again and again, Denna brought Richard to the brink, only to deny him until  _she_  was satisfied. But, just as with the Agiel training, she made him weep and scream, and when it was over, he thanked her.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Salindra managed to avoid Darken Rahl for a full five days, by making it appear as if she was out spending time with Sweet Richard. Lord Rahl couldn’t fault her for that, not when it was the task he had set her.  
  
She used the stolen time to disguise herself and visit three different healers, and even bribed Mistress Garen to let her in the Mord’Sith’s tower to see the wizard, Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. All confirmed what she suspected.  
  
She was to be a mother.  
  
The first time she heard it said aloud, Salindra was sick. The kindly old wizard who looked very much like her grandfather patted her on the back, and assured her that sickness was common at this stage, especially with a first child.  
  
Salindra did not bother to explain that it was the thought of any child – and a Rahl child in particular – that nauseated her.  
  
What a blessing this would have been, when she was still fool enough to want a Rahl babe in her belly. But, fool or not, this was where she found herself.  
  
She’d first come to the People’s Palace with hopes of being one of Darken Rahl’s forgotten darlings in a tower. A concubine whose name he did not know, nor care to know. She’d wanted only to be left alone to bask in the lap of luxury.  
  
Later she’d wanted revenge, to make D’Hara’s king love her more than Kahlan.  
  
Now, as she returned to the royal wing of the palace, she found she wanted a little of both.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Salindra stood primly in Darken Rahl’s sitting room, waiting for him to grace her with his presence. He was making her wait just to vex her, she was sure of it.  
  
She was also sure that she wasn’t in any kind of mood.  
  
Finally tiring of his game, she went to his bedchamber, pushing the door open without knocking. Lord Rahl was occupied, two Mord’Sith spread over him like honey on bread.  
  
“Mistress Garen. Mistress Dahlia,” Salindra greeted them politely. Then she met Darken Rahl’s eyes. “My lord, forgive me for intruding, but there are things we must discuss.”  
  
He’d meant for her to find him this way, she knew. He wanted to show her that she was nothing special. That her absence had meant little to him. That he was still in control.  
  
Salindra had to stop herself from snorting. She was a working girl, and he was one of her men. Her men were never in control.  
  
Lord Rahl gestured to the door with two fingers, and the two Mord’Sith stopped what they were doing and left, not bothering to dress. Salindra knew from her time at the palace that they would wait in the other room just as they were, until they knew whether Darken Rahl wanted to finish what he had started.  
  
Picking up a leather glove and tossing it away, Salindra sat on the edge of the bed, elegantly spreading her skirts.  
  
“What is it you want, Salindra?” Lord Rahl asked. He propped himself up on a pillow, still naked, his cock bobbing along merrily as he moved. He looked down at it, and then cut his blue eyes at Salindra.  
  
She sighed, but decided it would benefit her to have this conversation when he was sufficiently mellow.  
  
And with his balls in her hand.  
  
She shifted to lie next to him, stroking his thighs as she spoke. “Did you think you’d upset me with that display? I used to work in a pleasure house. That was hardly shocking.”  
  
“I’ll have to try harder next time,” he replied, his eyes at half-mast. He arched into her hand, a low moan leaving his lips.  
  
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Salindra moved her hand faster, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room.  
  
“What?” he asked, pumping into her fist, the nails of his right hand digging into her forearm.  
  
“I’m having your child,” she said bluntly.  
  
“ _What?_ ” he snapped just as he shuddered, coating his stomach and Salindra’s fingers in sticky white seed.  
  
“I’m having your child,” she repeated. She needed to know whether he would stand by his offspring. If he wouldn’t, then she would have to get Richard to lie with her and convince him the child was his.  
  
If she was going to bear a Rahl babe, then she was going to be a queen, one way or another.  
  
For a few short moments, Lord Rahl was the man who came to her in the night, wanting to be held and petted. He rested his hand on her stomach, something that might have been tears in his eyes.  
  
Then he threw himself back against the pillows, his black hair spread behind his head like a fan.  
  
“Get Richard to lie with you, and tell him the child is his,” he said, echoing her thoughts.  
  
Fairly certain that he wouldn’t kill her so long as she was carrying a Rahl within her womb, Salindra wiped his seed from her hand with the sleeve of the royal robe he’d left draped at the foot of the bed. Then she said, “Very well,” and took her leave.  
  
The maids would never get that stain out of the velvet.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Salindra asked Richard to come to her rooms that night, after dinner. She’d been coaxing him along gently enough, until now. But she wouldn’t be able to hide the child in her belly for long. It was time she had her first taste of Sweet Richard.  
  
He arrived promptly, looking dashing in his red and gold tunic and black breeches. His shoulders had grown broader, since he’d started training with the Dragon Corp. Salindra opened the door wearing nothing but her soft cotton robe, with the lace sleeves. She knew her curves would be highlighted by the thin fabric.  
  
The Prince of D’Hara blinked once, turned a little red, and then firmly fixed his eyes on her face.  
  
 _Damn._  
  
“Did you need something, Salindra?” he asked her, kindness practically shining from him in rays of golden light.  
  
“There is something I need,” she purred, drawing him deeper into the room. She made him sit on her fainting couch, and then took a place beside him, their legs touching. The couch was too small to allow otherwise.  
  
“Oh, um…” Richard sputtered as Salindra leaned into him, her hand on his knee.  
  
“Is something wrong?” she asked, letting her robe gape open so he’d be able to glimpse her breasts. She drew little circles on the inside of his thigh with three fingers.  
  
He put his hand over hers, stopping her. She looked up at him.  
  
“Salindra, you don’t. I mean, we can’t. I mean… why are you doing this?”  
  
Poor Sweet Richard.  
  
“Because I love you,” she told him breathlessly, making her eyes big and her face earnest. She leaned forward, kissing him. One side of her robe fell away completely, exposing her left breast to the open air. Richard’s fingers brushed over it, and then were yanked away, as if scalded.  
  
He put his hands on her shoulders, and gently, though decisively, pushed her away. Then he pulled up her robe, drawing it closed across her chest.  
  
“Salindra, I’m sorry,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what my brother’s told you or promised you, but –”  
  
“Have I displeased you?” she asked, playing the wounded princess. She tried to summon up some tears, and found she just didn’t have the energy.  
  
“No,” Richard clasped both of her hands in his. “It’s not that, it’s just –”  
  
“You don’t like my body?” There. Those were some proper tears. She felt them roll down her cheeks.  
  
“No, it’s fine! I mean, beautiful. What I saw. Not that I saw,” Richard cleared his throat. He wiped away the tears on her cheeks with his thumb, and for just an instant, Salindra let herself imagine that she was in love with him, and it was his child she carried. They’d live in a cozy cottage, and he’d chop wood and dote on their baby. She’d bake, and sneak up behind him to plant kisses on his cheeks. And it would all be perfect.  
  
Except for the fact that Salindra didn’t love Richard, couldn’t bake, and despised children. She wrinkled her nose. That was someone else’s dream. If she was going to be a mother, then she was going to be rich enough to have a nanny.  
  
“Then what is it?” Salindra asked, not willing to give up yet.  
  
“I… there’s someone else. Someone else that I love.”  
  
“What does that have to do with the price of apples in Aydindril?” Salindra winked, hoping to bring Richard back from the doe eyed haze of love triumphant that was currently wreaking havoc with his face.  
  
“What?” Richard was clearly confused.  
  
Getting desperate, Salindra put her hand back on his knee. “What if I said you could have me tonight, for just this night, and it need never be spoken of again? It would remain between us, always.” She smiled her seductive smile, then one that had lured many a rich husband into her brothel.  
  
Richard pulled away. “I would know. I could never do that to her.”  
  
“Does this woman even expect such devotion?” Salindra retorted, stung.  
  
“She doesn’t have to. I expect it from myself,” was Richard Rahl’s answer.  
  
He stood, moving so that he was framed in the window, the moon shining high in the sky behind him, the Sword of Truth at his hip. Looking at him then, Salindra thought he looked like a king. A legend, come to life.  
  
“You’re a rare man, Prince Richard,” she told him.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Richard snuck into the Mord’Sith barracks as soon as he left Salindra’s rooms. He had to see Denna. A burning urgency pushed him onwards, making every step feel like he trod on hot coals.  
  
The Mord’Sith on guard challenged him, but let him by when he was identified as the prince. At last he reached Denna’s rooms. Hers were next to Cara’s, and only a little smaller. Richard pushed his way through the door without knocking, only to be struck in the knee with an Agiel.  
  
He went down hard, unable to contain a pained yelp. A foot found his neck, pressing down until he couldn’t breathe.  
  
There was a flare of orange light as a candle was lit, and held high. Richard saw Denna’s pale skin illuminated in the glow. Her hair was down, and she wore only her black leather breastband and hip wrap. “Richard?”  
  
She took her foot off of his neck, and offered him a hand up.  
  
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he joked, then dropped a kiss on her left eyebrow, then the right one, then her lips, and her nose.  
  
“Richard, what are you doing here?” she stopped him, holding him at bay with the candle.  
  
“I had to see you,” he told her, taking the candle from her and placing it on the table by her bed. He pulled her into his arms, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling. She always smelled like leather oil and jasmine, as if the oil she used to care for her armor and the salts from the Mord’Sith bath house were infused in her skin.  
  
“Why?” she murmured, stroking his back. She pulled him towards the bed, and Richard went all too willingly.  
  
“Because, Denna… I realized something.”  
  
She gave him a questioning look, the same that had sent many a soldier scurrying for cover. But Richard grinned, and traced his fingers over her lips, then laid his head in her lap. She started running her nails over his scalp, and he sighed in bliss.  
  
There was nowhere in the world he would rather be, and no one else he’d rather spend time with.  
  
“You know I was confessed?” he started in a hushed tone.  
  
Of course she knew he was confessed. All of the palace Mord’Sith did. But Richard didn’t know where else to begin. “They say that it’s like being in love. That you love your Confessor with all that you have and are. But it’s more than that. It’s worse than that. Even your thoughts belong to her. There’s nothing left of  _you_  left.”  
  
Richard sighed, and Denna hummed to him, a strand of her yellow hair brushing his face. He curled it around his finger. “I thought, if that’s love… I didn’t want love. But it’s not,” he sat up, needing Denna to understand, to believe him for reasons he couldn’t explain. “What Confessors do, it’s not love. And I know… I know because, I love you, Denna. I love you, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”  
  
It felt so good to say it, so he did it again, grinning like a fool. “I love you, Denna.”  
  
“Richard Rahl,” she said, biting her lips and looking away.  
  
“Denna?” He ran his fingers along her chin, trying to get her to face him, but she wouldn’t.  
  
A drop of wetness touched his skin, and Richard brought it to his mouth, tasting salt.  
  
“Denna? Are you crying?”  
  
His heart plunged into his shoes. If she wanted him to go, he’d go. If she didn’t want his love. It would make their lives complicated, he knew, and Darken would be mad, but he’d get over it, and Richard had thought it was worth it and…  
  
“Should I go?” he asked Denna.  
  
She flung her arms around his neck, choking him for a brief moment before she loosened her hold. “Richard,” she rasped, her voice cracking. “I love you too.”  
  
Relief flooded him.  
  
“Then why are you crying?” he laughed, kissing her cheeks, the salt of her tears on his tongue.  
  
“Because there are things I have to tell you.” She met his eyes. “Richard, what do you know about the Boxes of Orden?”  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Darken was sitting in front of his fireplace, enjoying a goblet of wine, when Salindra found him.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“He wouldn’t lie with me. He’s in love.”  
  
Darken scoffed.  
  
Salindra came to stand by the fire. And what a pretty picture she made, with the flames bringing out the red in her hair, and her blue eyes sparking. She looked like a proper Rahl. Hopefully their child would be the same. Darken had always detested the whispers behind his back, that he was too dark to be of the royal blood.  
  
He frowned, disliking the turn his thoughts were taking.  
  
“I see no reason why I can’t be your queen,” Salindra continued. “Things could go on, just as they have. I’ll leave you to your business and you can come to me when it pleases you. All I want is a nanny and crown for the child.”  
  
“And an allowance and crown for yourself,” Darken said drolly.  
  
“You’re already keeping me in fashion in the queen’s suite. Putting ‘Queen’ in front of my name shouldn’t be any hardship. Come, Darken. Be practical. We’re very alike, you and I, even if you won’t admit it. We’d do well together.”  
  
She winked at him.  
  
Darken pulled at the sleeves of his robe, remembering the stain she had left on his favorite. The one he wore now itched around the collar.  
  
Salindra made some interesting points. If it weren’t for Richard, he’d very likely do what she wanted.  
  
If it weren’t for Richard.  
  
He couldn’t disinherit his brother. If he was to avert the prophecy, Richard had to love him.  
  
“No,” he said to Salindra.  
  
“No?” she repeated. Then, louder, losing her usual composure so quickly that Darken wondered if the child was affecting her temperament already, “No?! And what if the child has magic, will you suddenly want it back then? Are you even going to tell me why you won’t have me?”  
  
“No,” Darken said again, turning his attention back to the fire.  
  
Salindra stepped in front of him, aiming a kick at his booted feet. It hardly hurt, but it was the height of disrespect. A muscle standing out in his jaw, he stood, reaching for his dagger. He’d frighten her. Remind her of her place.  
  
“Is it because you think of  _her_  when you see me?” she demanded, her voice dropping low, a whispered, hissing accusation that echoed in his ears and poisoned his blood. “Because you make me live in her rooms and wear her clothes and use her servants, and now I’m having your child, just like she did?” She stomped her foot. “I’m  _not_  Kahlan. No matter how many of her dresses you make me wear!”  
  
Snarling, Darken backhanded Salindra across the jaw with a violent crack.  
  
She ran from him.  
  
Red hazing the edges of his vision, he kicked his chair over, knocking it into her path. His wine goblet crashed to the floor, the red liquid spreading over the stones.  
  
Salindra skidded to a stop, changing direction, her hair falling from its pins, her skirts swishing around her. Darken caught hold of a handful of golden curls and red brocade and yanked to pull Salindra against him. She pivoted and pounded her fists against his chest, then punched him in the mouth, his teeth cutting into her knuckles. She hurt herself more than she hurt him.  
  
Wrapping one arm around her to pin hers to her sides, Darken gripped her face with his other hand, squeezing her cheeks, making her lips pucker. He was beyond rage. He was in his faraway place, where he felt nothing. He saw all that he did, but only later would he understand the horror of it, if he ever did at all.  
  
“I carry your child,” Salindra reminded him. “Please,” she begged. “I carry your child.”  
  
Her lips were bloody, staining her teeth pink.  
  
Darken remembered his mother, weeping into Egremont’s chest after one of Panis Rahl’s rages.  
  
He remembered blood gushing from Kahlan’s lips, as she tried to impart one last command, _Don’t._  
  
Don’t what?  
  
Darken looked at Salindra, snatched from his faraway place by a chain of remembered pain. She looked so afraid.  
  
 _Don’t._  
  
He relaxed his grip on her arms, but didn’t let her go. Instead, he wiped the blood from her lips with two fingers, licking them clean and kissing her forehead, his beard tickling along her skin.  
  
She sensed the change in him and reacted accordingly. Her face was pressed into his chest. Her fingers tangled in his hair.  
  
Softly, getting louder as she gained confidence, she sang him a lullaby.  
  
 _White grows the lily,  
Red grows the rose,  
Here lies my laddy,  
See how he grows…_  
  
Kahlan’s lullaby. She’d sung it to Nicholas. Salindra had to know that that was where she’d learned it, where she’d heard it.  
  
Or perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps, like him, she willfully refused to remember, but took comfort in the melody just the same.  
  
Darken let himself be soothed.  
  
He didn’t know how to say he was sorry. Or maybe his pride wouldn’t let him. But he was. He didn’t want to be the man his father had been. He didn’t want to be the monster of prophecy.  
  
He wanted to be the king Kahlan Amnell had died to save, and this was the first time he was realizing it.  
  
He disgusted himself.  
  
He took Salindra into his bedroom, and then through the connecting door, into her room. Dismissing her maid, he helped her undress. Then he tucked her into bed.  
  
He tried to recapture the feelings that he’d experienced when Kahlan was with child. The wonder. The joy. The obsessive need to see to her comfort between every breath.  
  
But all was ashes.  
  
“Wait for me here,” he told Salindra, bending to kiss her brow.  
  
If he pretended long enough, perhaps one day his act would become the truth.  
  
It had happened before.  
  
He went in search of Richard.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“Oh, my lady. Oh, my lady,” Alice said over and over again. She’d crept back into Salindra’s bedroom as soon as Darken Rahl had left.  
  
Her noise was giving Salindra a headache.  
  
“Be quiet,” Salindra commanded at last, rubbing at her temples.  
  
Fool. She was such a fool.  
  
Why had she challenged him that way? She knew what made him dangerous, and how to avoid it. She knew how to keep him gentle. A master manipulator with years of practice, Salindra played men like a piper played music, turning them whichever way she wanted.  
  
The bed sank down as Alice sat next to her, a cool cloth in her hands. She placed it on Salindra’s head, and then started dabbing at Salindra’s lips with another cloth. The water stung, where the flesh had split.  
  
It was no matter. She’d had split lips before, given to her by a man filled with too much drink. She would dab lip paint over them, and they would look the same as ever, maybe better, if swelling made them bigger.  
  
Alice was babbling again. Salindra started listening, and realized the woman was dancing around the subject of helping Salindra escape. There was a temple of the Creator where Alice often visited with women from the palace. It was lovely. They should pray there together.  
  
Salindra could read between the lines. Any woman in danger who went with Alice would suddenly find herself inducted into the Sisters of the Light.  
  
“I can’t,” Salindra said. “I carry his child. He’d come after me, and the temple would be punished. For everyone’s sake, I have to stay.”  
  
Alice nodded, tears in her eyes. Reverently, she clasped Salindra’s hands, staring at her with the same devotion that she had once bestowed upon Kahlan.  
  
Salindra refused to flinch away.  
  
Let the little girl think that Salindra was noble, and good. That she stayed to spare others. The real truth, the truth Salindra held to her heart, was that if she really wanted to leave, she’d have found a way by now. She stayed because she wanted to. She’d been so bored, in her country manor with only husband hunting to occupy her.  
  
She stayed because she liked it, this game of sex and kings.  
  
She stayed because she preferred to be at Darken Rahl’s right hand, rather than in his path.  
  
 _I’m as mad as he is_ , she thought.  
  
She would hold her temper in the future. She would not mention Kahlan. She would not strike out at Darken Rahl. She would manage him as a warrior does a warhorse, a dangerous, wild creature tamed with bridle and spurs.  
  
And she would be the Queen of D’Hara, and see the child of her blood sit on the throne.  
  
Mama would be proud.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Darken found Richard in the council chamber, studying the maps where little figures marked out the placement of their soldiers, and the places where they were embattled.  
  
The Sword of Truth was strapped to his brother’s hip.  
  
Darken glanced at it, and then rested his hand on the pommel of his dagger. Standing carefully out of striking range, he cleared his throat.  
  
Richard looked up. “Brother,” he smiled. “If you’re here about those supply train calculations Egremont has me working on, I’m not done yet.”  
  
“No,” Darken said, preparing himself for Richard’s rage. Perhaps it would be better to get his sword before they had this conversation. It would be difficult to defend himself from the Sword of Truth with only a dagger.  
  
Richard frowned, moving closer, but Darken held up a hand to keep him back. “Darken? What’s wrong?”  
  
Darken fixed his eyes on Richard’s face. “I have a confession to make to you, little brother.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Salindra is with child.” Darken paused, gauging Richard’s reaction. “My child.”  
  
There was a moment in which Richard’s face was completely blank. Darken tensed, poised to spring should the Seeker reach for the sword at his side.  
  
How Darken hated that sword.  
  
Richard broke into a grin. “Darken, that’s great! Congratulations!” He closed the distance between them, enveloping Darken in a brotherly hug.  
  
Darken didn’t understand.  
  
He returned Richard’s embrace, subtly closing his fingers around the hilt of the Sword of Truth. He would draw it from Richard’s scabbard before the Seeker could twitch, should things turn ugly. “It means you will be disinherited,” he whispered into Richard’s ear.  
  
“That doesn’t matter,” Richard whispered back.  
  
Darken pulled away from his brother, leaving the Sword of Truth in its sheath. Where was the fury? Where was the sense of betrayal? Did Richard still love him, even now, when denied the throne?  
  
“You can marry Salindra, and have your baby, and I’ll be the favorite uncle.” He clapped Darken on the shoulder, looking into his face. Whatever he saw there made him say, “Really, Darken. I know you’re my big brother, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll get Egremont to teach me how to do his job. I’ll be better at that than I would have ever been at being Lord Rahl.”  
  
Darken felt the world tilt beneath him. Suspicion, vicious and black, welled up inside him. Richard had to be pretending this acceptance. Darken would need to be wary.  
  
“Honestly, I’m relieved. We both know I’m not the greatest at the royal part of everything. Remember when I stepped on the Queen of Rothenberg’s dress?” Richard laughed. “I’m happy that you’ve found love again.” His expression fell. “You know, after everything.”  
  
“Love?” Darken echoed. “No. Not love.”  
  
You did not love. Not after your Confessor.  
  
Darken wasn’t even certain he had ever loved before Kahlan had pulled his heart from his chest, making it hers. Making it belong to her in ways it had never belonged to anyone else, not even Darken himself. But he certainly would not love, could not love  _after_ confession.  
  
Nothing felt the same.  
  
But Richard shook his head, his smile returning to stretch across his face. His teeth were very white. “It’s alright, brother,” he said, hugging Darken again. “It’s alright.”  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Richard laid with Denna, in his massive four poster bed, the both of them naked. Abusing his royal privilege, he’d had her summoned, and told the messenger that she was to stop whatever she was doing and come to her prince at once.  
  
He couldn’t wait to tell her that Darken and Salindra were going to have a baby. That there was going to be a new heir. It meant that Richard would be free to be with Denna. They could marry, and be happy, without worrying about bloodlines and royal nonsense. He thought Denna would be as ecstatic as he was.  
  
He was shocked that the way she hissed and cursed when he told her, her blood red lips twisting into a grimace.  
  
“But the throne was promised to you!” she protested, her hands balled into fists.  
  
Richard sat up, running his fingers down Denna’s back. “Everything is alright. I never wanted to be Lord Rahl. I never even wanted to be the Seeker. I’m just a farm boy, and I hope, one day, a good general who can take Egremont’s place.” He pressed kisses to the curve of her neck, moving the curtain that was her hair out of the way. “Don’t be angry on my behalf.”  
  
“I’m not!” Denna retorted, pulling away from him. “How can you be so calm about this?” She stood, pacing the length of Richard’s bed chamber, and then going to the table where she’d left her Agiel. She picked it up, the high whining sound giving Richard gooseflesh.  
  
He hated that Denna sought pain instead of comfort.  
  
“Don’t you see, Denna? This means that we can stop hiding what we are to one another. We can be together. I want you to marry me.”  
  
Denna laughed, and it turned into a sob, though no tears came from her eyes. “You fool,” she said, her voice filled with love. She crossed back to the bed and caressed Richard’s cheek. “You brave, beautiful fool.”  
  
She still held her Agiel.  
  
“Lord Rahl will never let the two of us marry. We’re too dangerous together. The instant he knows you love me, I’ll be posted at a far off outpost. Or maybe sent on a mysterious mission from which I never return.”  
  
“He wouldn’t,” Richard protested, torn between his brother and his lover. He grasped Denna’s hand, the one that held the Agiel, wrapping his fingers around hers until they skimmed the surface of the leather covered weapon.  
  
He wished he could take her pain away.  
  
“Have you forgotten everything I told you about the Boxes of Orden? About what he plans to do?” Denna’s eyes were hard, her mouth set in a grim line. Richard cupped her cheek.  
  
“Darken wouldn’t,” he repeated.  
  
He  _wouldn’t_. Not after the Confessors. Darken couldn’t use Orden to command all of those around him, just as Richard couldn’t. They both knew what it was to have their free will taken.  
  
This was the bond they shared. The nightmare that was theirs.  
  
The tone of Denna’s next words was gentle, even if what she said was not. “Mistress Cara is on her way back from Tamerang with the third box as we speak. She will arrive within seven days.”  
  
Richard said nothing. He just buried his face in Denna’s neck, and waited for the world to right itself again.  
  
Cara was bringing the third Box of Orden. Did that mean that Darken really was going to put them together? With the Power of Orden, everyone would always have to do as he commanded.  
  
He would be no better than a Confessor.  
  
Richard rocked, inhaling the scent of Denna’s skin. He remembered the feel of his sword parting flesh. The blood gushing from Queen Kahlan’s mouth, staining her teeth.  
  
Darken whispering,  _I’m free._  
  
The way Mother Confessor Serena’s eyes had turned black, when she ripped Richard’s ability to choose away from him.  
  
“Please don’t make me kill,” he whimpered into Denna’s neck, unaware that he was speaking.  
  
He couldn’t do that again. Never again. He’d never let anyone else have him like that again. That wasn’t love. It was slavery. It was living death.  
  
“Not again. Please don’t make me kill.” He clung to Denna.  
  
 _The blood. There had been so much blood. Blood and black swirling eyes, and the taste of steel in his mouth as he was ordered to kill his brother. He was Serena’s puppet, in more than one way._  
  
Roughly pushing him back, Denna slapped him.  
  
Richard didn’t recognize her. His eyes rolling, the whites showing, he thought she was Serena, come back to confess him again. He struck at her with his fists, tendons standing out in his arms, landing a hard blow to her gut. But Denna was a better warrior than he, longer trained, and she had an Agiel in her hand. She subdued him, twisting that instrument of torture into the soft spot under his jaw.  
  
Richard collapsed onto the bed, panting and shuddering.  
  
“Denna. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –” he began once he could sort haunting memory from reality.  
  
She silenced him with a kiss.  
  
This was one of the reasons why he loved her. She was strong. She could defend herself.  
  
She was safe from him.  
  
“You see why you have to take the throne. Why you must fight to stay the heir,” she said, running her fingertips over his chest.  
  
“Salindra’s baby is the new heir. It’s the law of the land.” Richard’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Was that really him speaking?  
  
“ _You_  are the law of the land!” Denna declared, at her most forceful. “You are Richard Rahl, and with these hands,” she moved to straddle Richard, putting her hands in his, “you wield the Sword of Truth. You are the destined king who will unite D’Hara and the Midlands. And you are the only one who can save us from the Power of Orden.”  
  
“You’re just saying that because you love me,” Richard teased her, trying to lighten the mood. His lips still trembled. He might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.  
  
“I do love you,” Denna affirmed, leaning down to give him a deep kiss.  
  
And then suddenly, she was gone. Richard opened his eyes and saw she was pulling on her armor, and tossing his tunic and breeches at him. “Get dressed. There’s someone you need to see.”


	5. Part V

Zedd sat in his cell, drawing runes in the dirt on the floor. He was perfecting a new spell of his own making. Something to please Mistress Denna, when next she visited. Zedd knew she would be visiting soon, because he’d been given water to wash in and a fresh robe. His face and hands were still slightly pink, from the hard scrubbing he’d given himself. His hair hung damp and limp by his face, wet, but a bright snowy white.  
  
He’d even polished his Rada Han.  
  
Hearing footsteps in the hall, Zedd rushed to the window in his cell door, hoping for a glimpse of Denna.  
  
She was there, but there was someone else with her.  
  
The door to Zedd’s cell was opened, and Zedd stepped back, kneeling when he recognized Richard. He was Prince of D’Hara now. Zedd had to show proper respect.  
  
“Zedd?” the boy looked between Zedd and Denna.  
  
Zedd looked up.  
  
“I have questions,” Richard said.  
  
“I have answers,” Zedd replied, just as he and Mistress Denna had practiced.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“But I have to try to reason with him. I can’t just attack my brother. Not again. Especially since now I know that it was the Confessors who were behind the slaughter at Brennidon. And I can’t just break D’Hara’s laws.”  
  
Richard sat cross legged on the floor across from Zedd. He wanted to pull his hair out, he was so frustrated. Zedd was just as infuriating as he had always been.  
  
“Listen here, boy.” Zedd reached out one of his long, spindly fingers, flicking his fingernail against the hilt of the Sword of Truth, eliciting a ringing sound. “There is no law except this sword. It was forged by the Creator, in the pit of fire at the Keeper’s heart. No brand burns brighter, no blade strikes more true. You were chosen to wield it. You must trust that what you do is right. The sword will guide you to your destiny.”  
  
Richard grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. He hated it when Zedd got prophetic over the sword. He hated the feeling of being made to choose, while simultaneously having no choice.  
  
“I won’t let him use Orden,” Richard said at last, resting his hand on his sword hilt.  
  
It thrummed with power.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Cara pulled back on her reins, stopping her horse where the road crested a hill. Before her, outlined in the distance, she could see the People’s Palace.  
  
Smirking, Cara patted the black silk bag she wore slung across her chest. Inside was the third Box of Orden.  
  
Lord Rahl would be pleased, when Cara presented him with it. So very pleased, she doubted whether he’d allow her to leave his bedroom for at least three nights.  
  
Clucking her tongue, Cara urged her horse forward.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“It’s too late for more talk, Richard!” Denna paced like a caged bear. “We must act. Cara has been sighted outside the palace walls. She’ll be here soon, and with her the third Box of Orden.”  
  
“I can reason with him!” Richard protested.  
  
They stood in his rooms in the royal wing, Richard sitting at the chess table and Denna using all her willpower to keep herself from shaking him until his teeth rattled.  
  
He was so brave and strong, and most of all so  _good_. Denna loved him. She loved him more than she could say, more than she had thought herself capable of, but she feared that the very goodness that made him Richard would lead to their downfall.  
  
But that was why the Creator had seen fit to bring them together. Richard was a reaching hand, opened in friendship.  
  
Denna was his fist of war.  
  
“I’ll go to him now,” Richard stood, grasping her shoulders and looking down into her face. He had such expressive eyes. “I’ll talk to him. Everything is going to be fine. He’ll understand. You’ll see,” Richard promised so solemnly that Denna wondered whether he was trying to convince her or himself.  
  
“I’m sure he will,” Denna agreed, to placate her lover.  
  
Richard nodded, started to say something else, then nodded again. He headed for the door.  
  
“I’ll be right behind you,” Denna promised.  
  
And she would be.  
  
Richard would go do what he felt he must. And while he was throwing himself against the unyielding blade that was Darken Rahl, Denna would do what needed to be done.  
  
She went to fetch her bow.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Darken had just received word that scouts had spotted Cara outside the palace gate, when Richard charged into the council chamber like a rampaging shadrin. His face was red, and his breathing labored, his ashy brown hair flopping over his forehead.  
  
“Richard?” Darken raised a brow.  
  
“I wanted more time. I wanted to figure out the best way to approach you, but I just heard Cara is back, and I know what she has with her.”  
  
Darken’s heart started to pound. “What are you talking about, little brother?” He kept his voice even. His face calm. Only the thrumming of his pulse revealed his tension.  
  
“Don’t do that, Darken,” Richard told him, his face made ugly with a frown. “You know.  _You know!_ ” Richard shouted.  
  
Darken had been waiting for this. Had expected it. Had thought he would be more comfortable with Richard, if his little brother would act just like any Rahl.  
  
But now that Richard screamed and postured, foamy spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth, Darken found he didn’t like it. It wasn’t the Richard he knew.  
  
It wasn’t the Richard he wanted.  
  
“You know about Orden?” Darken began gingerly, edging his way subtly closer to the wall where a sword wielded by a past Rahl was displayed. He doubted Richard would notice. He was like Panis when he was angry. Blind to everything else.  
  
“I know about Orden,” Richard confirmed. “And brother, I can’t let you. I can’t.”  
  
“Think of what we could do with such power, Richard,” Darken said soothingly, taking another few steps toward the sword on the wall. “We could end the war. We could end all fighting. Do you really want to save people from that? Do you want to save them from peace everlasting?”  
  
A few more steps, and he’s be able to reach the blade.  
  
“It’s not about saving the people!” Richard burst, halting Darken in his tracks. He finished in a softer voice, “It’s about saving you. I can’t let you, Darken. You’d be just like  _them_.”  
  
 _Them._  
  
Darken didn’t have to ask who Richard meant.  
  
He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, whether he was going to lie or speak the truth, argue or yield…  
  
And he would never know, for at that moment a sea hawk careened through the open balcony doors, an arrow stuck through one of its wings.  
  
The bird crashed in a great plume of black vapor, a dark miasma that heralded a shapechange. When the smoke cleared, a Mord’Sith laid face down on the floor, her blond hair shorn, and an arrow in her shoulder.  
  
Her braid had been cut off.  
  
His gut twisting in knots, Darken went to the woman, rolling her over with the toe of one boot.  
  
It was Cara.  
  
“Denna,” she wheezed, a strange whistling sound accompanying every breath she took. “Denna took it.”  
  
Darken went cold.  
  
He looked up to give Richard an order, only to see the council chamber door slam in his face, and hear the lock turn.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
“Egremont, where’s Denna?” Richard demanded, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.  
  
Egremont blinked owlishly, his brow lined with concern. “My lord?”  
  
Richard looked back over his shoulder, to the door of the room he’d locked Darken and Cara in. That wouldn’t hold them for long. When they got out, they’d come for Denna.  
  
It took all of his willpower to keep himself from shaking Egremont until his teeth rattled in his head. “Mistress Denna. Where is she? I need to know!”  
  
Egremont put his hand on his sword. “Mistress Denna went to take the third Box of Orden to the pedestal chamber in the west wing. She said that you and Lord Rahl would be following shortly.”  
  
“Thank you, Egremont!” Richard clapped the old man on the shoulder, taking off down the hall.  
  
He stopped before he turned the corner to shout back, “Keep my brother locked in the council chamber. He’s in danger.”  
  
Without stopping to see if Egremont believed him, Richard ran on, sliding across marble floors and taking stairs three steps at a time.  
  


**-l-**

  
  
Richard reached the west wing, and knew Denna wasn’t far ahead of him by the trail of bodies in uniform.  
  
She had done this. His love. His Denna. She’d cut these men apart with their own swords, and left them broken and bleeding, their faces frozen in pain.  
  
 _The blood, so much blood, between Kahlan’s teeth. Swirling black eyes, a hand that reached. Always the blood, so much blood, and a baby was crying, Richard cut his brother to ribbons, and then Serena was dying._  
  
Richard squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to keep going. Denna was doing this because she thought she had to. Because she loved him, and wanted to save him.  
  
He would never lose his faith in her.  
  
At last he reached the last guard, lying on his side just in front of the chamber where Egremont had said Darken was keeping the Boxes of Orden. Richard could see Denna through the open door. She stood bathed in a pool of light, a beacon of sun shining through the stained glass skylight above her.  
  
He stepped over the dead guard.  
  
“Richard! Richard, help!” someone gasped.  
  
Richard turned to see Salindra curled into a corner of the room not visible from the doorway, an ugly bruise swelling around her eye. She cowered and shook, looking as if she would gladly disappear into the wall, given the chance.  
  
“You took Salindra hostage?” Richard kept his eyes on his brother’s princess, unwilling to look at Denna. Unwilling to see her face.  
  
“I had to keep the guards from shooting me at a distance. Some carry crossbows,” Denna said nonchalantly, as if this was one of Richard’s lessons in strategy.  
  
Richard looked at her. She was wearing white leathers. Richard didn’t understand why. Blood stained her boots and her gloves, and there was a splash across her torso that told a story he didn’t want to know.  
  
Two of the Boxes of Orden sat on their pedestal. Denna held the third in her hands, preparing to put them together.  
  
Richard drew his sword. It glowed red-orange in his hand.  
  
“Denna, please. Don’t do this. I can’t let you, the same way I couldn’t let Darken.”  
  
Denna met Richard’s eyes. “Are you going to kill me, Richard? Run me through with the Sword of Truth?”  
  
“I love you,” he replied.  
  
He tossed the sword to the floor with a clang.  
  
Time stood still, the clanging banging of the Sword of Truth striking stone echoing over and over in the small chamber. They stood frozen on a precipice, a crossroad of fate.  
  
Denna raised the third Box of Orden high.  
  
“Don’t,” Richard begged, raising one hand.  
  
 _“Don’t,” Kahlan said to Darken Rahl as she lay dying._  
  
 _Please_ , they thought as one, though in different times and places,  _don’t be a monster._  
  
“Denna, don’t,” Richard said, reaching for her, willing her to drop the box, to come to him. They could leave together. Tonight. Or he’d find a way to make things right with his brother. Everything would be fine, if she would just drop the box and come to him. “You’re better than this.”  
  
Denna blinked and swallowed hard, her eyes overly bright. Her red lips turned down at the corners, her whole face a mask of tragedy. In despair she said, “I’m not.”  
  
She lowered the box to the pedestal to join it with the other two. “Don’t worry, Richard. You’ll still love me, and I’ll love you and be as kind to you as you’ve always been to me.”  
  
 _CRASH_  
  
The skylight above Denna shattered. Darken Rahl surged into the room in an ominous black cloud, swooping down from above. Glass rained down on them. Richard ducked, covering his head, a line of pain drawn down one of his arms. He bled.  
  
Cut.  
  
Salindra screamed. Someone told her to be silent.  
  
Richard brushed crushed glass from his face, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. There was the sound of more glass crunching beneath heavy boots. He opened his eyes just in time to see Darken throw his dagger, the blade spinning end over end straight for Denna’s heart.  
  
“No!” Richard dove at her, pushing her out of the way with two hands to her hip.  
  
Darken turned a fierce glare on him as Richard ran to meet his brother, gripping the older man’s biceps. “Just wait!” Richard shouted. Maybe if he shouted, Darken would listen. “Let me explain!”  
  
“I always knew you would betray me,” Darken roared, his words ripping a hole in Richard’s spirit.  
  
He caught Richard with a brutal uppercut punch, forcing his face up and to the side and making him bite his tongue. Richard didn’t fight back. Couldn’t bring himself to fight back, as Darken swept his feet out from under him and kicked him in the ribs.  
  
Richard fell to his side, the glass on the floor tearing at his skin.  
  
“Lord Rahl!” Denna called, drawing Darken’s attention.  
  
She was back at the pedestal, the third box in her hands.  
  
“No!” Darken hissed, the sound somehow loud to Richard’s ears, a word whispered by a hundred thousand serpents.  
  
As Richard watched, Denna put the third box in place. A haze of golden light enveloped her, white beams of power shooting from her mouth and her eyes. It was beautiful, and horrific, and strange.  
  
Then Darken Rahl scooped up the Sword of Truth, still lying where Richard had dropped it. In two bounds, the dark king stood before Denna, the tip of the sword poised over the fused Boxes of Orden.  
  
Richard couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He was seized by fate, touched by destiny.  
  
By the law that was the sword.  
  
Darken Rahl drove the Sword of Truth down, separating the Boxes of Orden.  
  
And the world blew apart.  
  
Green fire flung Darken and Denna back into opposite walls, burning their clothes, consuming their flesh. Richard was blinded by the blaze. His ears rang.  
  
He could smell only fire, feel only heat. He called Denna’s name, and felt his lips crack.  
  
Then his vision returned, and he cursed the Creator, wishing it hadn’t.  
  
Denna was dead before her body hit the floor, little more than a broken black husk. As Richard watched, her face crumpled into dust.  
  
He wept. And screamed.  
  
He had a new nightmare.  
  
Darken lingered, badly burned, but still breathing. His lightning blue eyes stood out bright in his face, his eyelids eaten away. His vest was melted to his skin. The stink of singed hair and roasting flesh clogged Richard’s nostrils.  
  
“Lie,” Darken croaked once, even his teeth black. Then again. “Lie.”  
  
Richard didn’t understand.  
  
But Salindra did, it seemed. She crawled over to the fallen king, startling Richard. In the shock of the blast, he’d forgotten she was in the room. He’d forgotten all but the fire, and the look in Denna’s eyes.  
  
Salindra’s hands looked like mincemeat, shards of glass sticking out from the flesh of her palms. Below her black eye, she had a fresh cut that was sure to scar her lovely face.  
  
“I love you,” she told Darken Rahl, leaning over him so that he could see her. She pulled his head into her lap.  
  
Darken’s hair came away in her hands. She looked sick, but persevered. “Richard loves you. Our child loves you, and will grow strong, knowing their father was the greatest king to ever rule D’Hara.”  
  
Then, softly, and slightly out of tune, she started to sing a lullaby.  
  
 _White grows the lily,  
Red grows the rose,  
Here lies my laddy…_  
  
She stopped, her voice breaking. She coughed.  
  
 _A rattle of death, a last lingering breath._  
  
Darken Rahl died.  
  
Quietly, like a candle in the wind, his light went out.  
  
There was a rush in Richard’s blood as he joined Salindra in laying his brother down. His heart gave a heavy thump, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in response to some strange sensation, a sort of sixth sense. It was the only thing he felt. The only thing he could feel. Maybe the only thing he would ever feel again.  
  
“Lord Rahl,” Salindra said, looking at him.  
  
“Queen Salindra,” he replied, answering the question she hadn’t asked. He laid his hand across her stomach.  
  
Then Richard bent and picked up the Sword of Truth, that blade destined for Darken Rahl’s demise.  
  
And sheathed it.  
  


**-l-**

  
  


_Once more we hear the word  
That sickened earth of old:  
No law except the sword  
Unsheathed and uncontrolled._


End file.
